


All I Want is You...Honest

by Isscha



Series: A Very Drarry Christmas [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, M/M, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 08:45:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16829116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isscha/pseuds/Isscha
Summary: Harry’s not sure what else he can do or say to help Draco understand what it is he really wants from him for Christmas.





	All I Want is You...Honest

Harry wakes on Christmas morning with a stomach twisting in dread. 

He’s terrified that, once again, Draco has gotten him something that was once again too much and too expensive and severely lacking in purposefulness.

Their first Christmas, both as friends and as a couple, was during their NEWT’s year at Hogwarts the year after the war. Headmistress McGonagall had opened the school for those seventh years who had not had a chance to complete their NEWT’s and Harry had jumped on that opportunity immediately. It hadn’t taken long for the two boys to start talking, first throwing half hearted insults that quickly turned into real conversations focused on topics Harry hadn’t even spoken about with Ron or Hermione. 

That Christmas he had received an entire new wardrobe, two if you counted Muggle and Magical garments separate from each other. He had nearly had a heart attack at the sheer volume of clothing that met his eyes when he flung his closet open that morning to dress for the day and Draco had defended himself by saying that Harry desperately needed new things, and that he wanted to spoil Harry with gifts he deserved.

He appreciated it, he really did. He knew he needed new clothing, but he hadn’t wanted Draco to spend  _ that much _ on him. Harry had responded when asked that he already had all he wanted for Christmas, but could see even then that Draco had no idea what Harry had meant, and the extreme amounts of cloth that now hung neatly in his closet was testament to that. 

Their second year Draco bought him not only season tickets for the Falcons, but for the best private box in the entire stadium. That private box ran for 1000 galleons per day of the match, were the match to last longer than 24 hours, in  _ addition _ to the exorbitant amount for tickets to actually attending the games. What was even worse was just how many galleons he had spent on what ended up being four measly tickets, as the majority of the Falcon’s games would be away, and the season pass didn’t cover away games. They only ended up being able to attend one, and Harry had managed to pawn the other tickets onto Ron and Ginny, hating himself for being so wasteful but thankful he at least had friends who could use them.

Their third Christmas was the worst yet. He purchased for Harry not only a massive 197-foot-long, six-stateroom luxury yacht, but a sodding  _ island _ to sail to. The island, which is  _ still _ technically his as the paperwork all has his name on it and is filed away in Draco’s perfect filing system, is a little more than 8 acres in size and includes  _ four _ houses, a private harbor,  _ five shipping vessels _ , two beaches, a fitness center and even more that they never had a chance to even see and they have been to the island a grand total of one time and that was the day Draco gifted it to him. 

All he has ever wanted in life is a family, and now he has that with Draco. If he can just get Draco to see that, then his life will be perfect. 

The bed is empty next to him, and his worry only grows. Draco sleeps like the dead, and it takes a monumental effort every morning for him to rouse himself and ready for the day. Harry on the other hand, rises at precisely 5 every morning like clockwork, which means he’s always the first one awake. 

An empty bed means Draco is plotting. 

And that is especially worrying.

Harry wonders if Draco bought him a planet or something equally ridiculous this year. It would fit the pattern thus far. Yawning, he forgoes a shower and wraps himself in last year’s green sweater from Molly, tugs on his grey joggers, and makes his way downstairs. He has a hankering for some yogurt and fruit.

He pauses on the stairs when he hears humming and the distinct sound of frying coming from their kitchen and he feels something in his heart quicken and warm. He takes a quick glance into the sitting room at the tree and is surprised to see a very small bright red box has been added to the silver and gold presents he had put there over the month. Nothing indicates that there is an uncomfortably expensive present waiting for him. His fingers twitch with the urge to open the tiny box but he shoves it aside. He’s an adult now, he can control his impulses. The spicy scent of sausage wafts through the open door and he suddenly finds it much easier to walk away from the temptation of opening his gift early. 

The warmth in his heart explodes into fuzzy contentment and mild arousal as he watches his boyfriend slide around the kitchen in his black socked feet, one of Harry’s old maroon Weasley jumpers hanging limply on his frame and tight black muggle fleece leggings he stole from Hermione of all people hugging his slim calves and lightly muscled thighs. He’s completely oblivious to Harry’s presence, and is unabashedly singing Celestina Warbeck as he stirs what appears to be a drink of some sort.

When Draco steps back from the stove and runs both hands through his shaggy hair - a decision Harry had fully supported as soon as he saw just how much it softened the other man - with a wistfully fond smile on his face, Harry gives in to the urge to make his presence known. “Happy Christmas.” He says, his voice still rough from sleep. “Want any help?”

Draco whirls around and Harry nearly steps back from the look of utter besottment on his face. Draco has never been  _ this _ open,  _ this _ vulnerable, not unless he was drunk almost to the point of blackout. However, Drunk Draco is a disheveled mess, and it is obvious to Harry that the Draco currently curling fingers around his wrist to tug him into a kiss is decidedly sober. 

For some reason he isn’t awake enough yet to analyze, the knowledge that Draco is  _ willingly _ showing Harry how he’s feeling sends a wave of arousal coursing through his veins. Draco hums happily and kisses him too briefly for Harry’s liking. “Happy Christmas. The food is nearly done, but if you could set the table and pour us some mimosas, that will be an enormous help.”

The mystery drink named, Harry gives him another quick peck and shoots him a half smile. “I can do that.” He has had plenty of practice over the years, first from his aunt’s dinner parties and later from Draco’s dinner parties, and it doesn’t take him long to have their small dining table set beautifully for breakfast. 

By the time he has two large goblets chilled and filled with the fizzy orange concoction, Draco is bringing out a few covered platters. Harry automatically stands to serve out the food, but Draco stares at Harry until he slowly sits down and allows Draco to be the one to ensure Harry has his food first today. 

Harry can’t remember the last time he felt this cared for. He’s not sure he ever has before, if he’s to be completely honest with himself. He steals a kiss when Draco places a plate heaped with fresh fruit, bacon, and cubed roasted potatoes in front of him. His boyfriend hums again with delight and quickly serves himself up a plate as well. 

They pass the meal in quiet conversation, Harry unwilling to tamper with the almost enchanting atmosphere. He desperately wants to see what Draco has bought for him now. He can’t fathom what would possibly top what he’s already been given just in the form of his unadulterated emotions, and the idea that he’s bought Harry something dreadfully expensive is suddenly far away. 

When they are sitting in the living room around their bright and cheerful tree, Harry’s surprised to see Draco’s hands tremble as he passes Harry his gift. 

Reverently, Harry opens it and can’t help the little furrow his brow makes at what is inside.

Inside is a slip of parchment with coordinates on it and nothing else. 

For a brief moment, he’s terrified that Draco actually  _ did _ buy him a mother fucking planet before he realized the coordinates were specifically an apparition point. 

“The coordinates are for a house. If you’d like, we can go now or after we finish gifts here.” Draco’s voice is oddly nervous, and that has Harry immediately intrigued. Why is he nervous? Just how ridiculously expensive  _ was _ the house that would cause the unflappable Draco Malfoy to be  _ visibly nervous _ ? That has him more curious than any other reaction would have invoked and he stands and pulls the blond up with him.

“We can go now. I’m assuming you have things to show me?”

Draco smiles, and the nervous look is mostly wiped away. “Of course.” He says simply and holds out an arm. “Shall we then?”

~~*~*~~

Harry isn’t sure what exactly to expect other than his irrational, yet completely plausible if he thought about it hard enough, idea that Draco bought him a house on another sodding planet. It may as well have been one with how foreign the landscape appears to him. 

According to Draco, they are currently in the Swiss Alps. All Harry can tell is that they are standing on treeless hill overlooking a small, almost unnaturally blue lake surrounded by walnut, pine, and oak trees with the snow dotted mountains looming impressively over them. Nestled in the trees that surround the blue lake is a small cabin, though Harry feels that the word is inadequate. 

It’s less of a rustic cabin and more of a modern, sort of boxy chalet, and the area is beautiful and strange and Harry is completely overwhelmed at the new experience. Aside from their trips to France to visit Draco’s parents and their one trip to the Bahamas last year, Harry has never left England. The Dursleys certainly weren’t going to take him anywhere, and he’s simply been too busy otherwise.

Upon closer inspection, if he’s to be completely honest with himself, the chalet appears to be far less extravagant than anything Draco has purchased for him so far. He can even see them coming here more often, at least more often than he wants to ever return to that stupid private island. 

“Do you wish to see the inside?” Draco asks softly, and Harry very nearly rolls his eyes snarks at him in response. 

However, he doesn’t want the vulnerability Draco’s been showing him to vanish, so he simply squeezes the hand holding his and nods. “Of course. Lead the way.”

They start down the winding gravel path that they had landed on, Harry looking around him in awe and Draco making sure he doesn’t fall down the rather steep hill. Each step has Harry wishing he lives here, taking in the smell of the scots pine, the snap of the chill breeze sweeping off the mountain, the gentle splashing of the wind-waves on the lake against the pebbled beach. 

As they grow closer to the boxy chalet, Harry realizes that it is mostly windows, and his love of the house just expands. He spent so long locked away in the dark and cramped cupboard that he hates how dark Grimmauld is, and always will be. He is starting to think that this might just be Draco’s best present for him, ever. While still exasperatingly expensive, at least it’s a gift that is beautiful and helps him along in fulfilling his greatest desire for a family.

He allows Draco to open the door with a flourish and usher him into the main entry room where he is stopped in his tracks by what he sees inside.

Everything is open concept, and he can see straight through the entire house to the view through the living room windows which overlooks the lake. The house is furnished already with sleek, modern furniture that Harry instantly loves. As he runs a hand along a thin hallway table, he knocks off a folded sheet of parchment. Picking it up, he traces his finger along Draco’s messy scrawl spelling out his name. 

It amuses him still that out of the pair of them, Harry is the one with decent penmanship. 

With an encouraging wave of the hand from Draco, he opens the parchment and smiles at the brief message.

_ I hope I didn’t go overboard. _

“At least you’re aware of your shortcomings now.” Harry snickers, and Draco sighs and doesn’t comment. He just taps at a glass vase that Harry realizes is identical to others scattered on various surfaces. Inside are little scrolls of paper that at first glance appear to be wine bottle corks. He shoots Draco a questioning look, and slowly pulls one out. 

When Draco makes no move or comment to stop him, he unrolls the paper and reads what is written in tiny script.  _ You find the joy in everything, even me. _ His eyebrows pull together and he glances again at his boyfriend who looks nearly green at the gills. “Are you okay?

“Fine.” Draco says shortly and then frowns at himself. “I mean, yes I’m fine, but I’m also...not fine.”

“Yes, that clarified everything. Thank you.” He smiles unapologetically at Draco’s glare. 

For a long moment, both men are silent. Draco still looking rather ill, and Harry wondering just what Draco means by all these little bits of what appear to be complements. 

“I love you.” 

Harry freezes, still staring at Draco. 

He’s only ever heard the words when Draco was either too drunk to notice what he was saying, or so tired he was nearly unconscious. He’s never once said the words deliberately like he did just now. 

“What?” 

It’s the only word that he can say, the only word that can get past his stalled brain. 

Draco smiles, a quirky little half smile that always has Harry instantly half hard. He takes in a deep breath, and Harry holds his with anticipation. 

“I love you, Harry.”

So soft, so quiet, yet so earnest. Harry immediately has to blink to keep himself from bawling right there. 

“You say it all the time, without hesitation. I think it all the time, though I’ve only said it once out loud and I’m certain now you were sleeping at the time.”

Harry can’t help his snort at that, but he’s not about to remind the other man of just how many times he’s drunkenly confessed for the ‘first time.’ “I remember that! I thought I dreamt it.” He tugs Draco over until the blond settles in his lap with his arms draped over Harry’s shoulders. 

“There are... a lot of these jars scattered about the house. I spent the months after the fiasco that was last year’s Christmas writing. I wanted to figure out what I was doing  _ wrong _ , why my gifts weren’t making you happy.” His eyes look sad and Harry kisses him softly in an effort to dispel the sadness. “The jars are filled with scraps of what I wrote out to help me gather the courage to actually tell you...that I love you. They’re all things I’ve noticed about you that make me love you.”

Harry can’t respond, or else he’ll break down sobbing. He just kisses his boyfriend again instead. 

“This is my property. My father purchased it for me when…when the Dark Lord...” He takes a deep breath and seems to be unable to continue, and Harry is hit with a sudden vision of a frightened, freshly branded Draco being given the property as a sort of consolation gift and understands his hesitation to be proud of the place.

He hates prolonged eye contact, but he holds it anyway because he wants Draco to know how serious he is. “It doesn’t matter when or why you were given this absolutely beautiful house, Draco. What matters is what we do with it. Together.”

For a brief moment, Harry fears he said the wrong thing. Draco’s eyes are wet and he’s frozen staring at him. Before Harry can form an apology, Draco drags Harry’s face over to his and kisses him with a desperation Harry hasn’t felt from him since their first couple of times together all those years ago their last year of school. 

When they part, Harry allows Draco to hold him closely, their foreheads touching and fingers tracing invisible paths over skin. “What did you want to do with it?” Draco asks softly, breath hitching when Harry’s fingers skate lightly over an earlobe. 

“How easy would it be to commute to work from here?” He asks nonchalantly, and Draco’s movements immediately halt. 

“You love Grimmauld.”

“I  _ hate _ Grimmauld.”

“No, you…”

Harry interrupts. “No, I loved Sirius, I still love him, but he is gone and I have memories and keepsakes. I don’t need to live in that horrible house to remember my godfather. And more importantly, I love _ you _ . I want to live here with you, in a place that is  _ ours _ and no one else's.”

And when Draco kisses him this time, it's one full of promise and anticipation for the future, and Harry can’t wait to see just where they’ll be this time next year. 


End file.
